


Little Talks

by churb



Category: Doctor Who, Pinky and the Brain
Genre: (when he feels like it), Gen, M/M, Other, aka dumb kids talk about feelings, mostly because pinky is a boy, this fanfic does not pass the bechdel test
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churb/pseuds/churb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara talks to a new found friend about current events in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Talks

**Author's Note:**

> i think i wrote clara as a bit too much of a bitch oh well
> 
> written for thelittlemermage on tumblr bc reasons

The entire fate of the world was being decided in a tiny room.  
  
In that room, two very determined men dealt out their respective points, argued endlessly, to come to one of the most important decisions the world had ever come to - the fate of the damn planet, in few words, however that would pan out. Strictly speaking, it was honestly and truly one of the most important things that had ever happened, in her own personal timeframe, anyway.  
  
And Clara wasn't allowed in to witness it.  
  
Rather, she was sat in the next room along, at a dark mahogany table, drinking tea out of a fancy cup with a god damn lab mouse sat opposite her, all because the Doctor did not value her as an independent women and wanted to keep her ""safe"".  
  
Their adversaries were mice, Clara thought. Nothing bad could happen to her. What, were they going to jump on her foot? Gnaw her to death with tiny little mouse bites?  
  
But she was here, and while she was here, she might as well try to make small talk.  
  
If this guy would ever  _shut up_.  
  
“And then he said that he wasn't surprised. He said “That is a horse, and you are a mouse.” And I said, “Oh, coming from you, Mr I'd-Shag-Princess-Diana!”  
  
“Shocking.” Clara sips her tea and tries not to think about that too much lest it disturb her mind with images she didn't really want. “That sounds a tad hypocritical.”  
  
“I know! Zort. I _live_ with him. It's 1996! And I shouldn't have to _qualify_ myself.” This was punctuated by an offended and slightly haughty little huff noise. Clara goes back to her tea and decides, privately, with an “Mmm,", that she agrees with this elusive figure, in that such was a tad fucked up, but the tiny little labmouse sat on her table looks so upset by this turn of events that she decides to keep quiet about it for now.  
  
The mouse fiddles with his hands nervously.  
  
"Not like I expected anything less, at this point."

And this is the point where Clara puts down her tea and decides that this just got, from a psychological point of view, interesting.  
  
"Really?" She's trying not to sound nosy, and more interested - consoling, even, rather than prying for answers alone. "Why not?" The mouse looks back at her, and Clara meets his gaze, too, blue against brown (she didn't know mice could have blue eyes, but the more you know, she supposes) before he drops his gaze and looks away.  
  
"Brain, um." It comes out a little stilted. "He doesn't, ah. Like any of my partners, really."

Clara tries not to raise her eyebrows.

"Why not?"

It seems, for a second, that the mouse is deliberating how to answer the question - when he does it's flustered, stilted, slightly, and it's all Clara can do not to intensify the all knowing look she's wearing. 

"I... I don't know. Maybe he was... just trying to stop this from happening. I guess I'll never know now.” Something that sounded like a sob, and then a “Narf”, and Clara reaches over and pats his leg.  
  
"Or maybe, like you said, he's not very tolerant."

"Right--" And just because she's providing sympathy doesn't mean he gets to dry his eyes on her jacket, for fuck's sake-- "Yes, um, no, he's. I wouldn't call Brain tolerant, honestly, I'd have half a dictionary to go before that, um. Or. Sort of... I don't know, how far down are the Ts?" He starts to count on his fingers, for a moment, before Clara pats his knee again in an effort to distract him from that.

"Okay, no, he's not, um. Accepting of your... whatever. Romantic something. If that's the theory we're going with, right?"

The mouse pauses.  
  
"I can't think of any other reasons." 

And to Clara's credit, she does try very, very hard to bite her tongue on this one. Involving herself in other people's romantic lives is hardly her area of expertise (she wouldn't consider herself that nosy, really, or obsessed with other people's business) but try as she might, to restrain herself, she can't, here.  
  
Later she'd put it down to some things just needing to be said.

"I mean. He might be gay."

The dejected look to the floor turns into surprised, incredulous eye contact, and Clara suddenly regrets everything.

"What?"

Shit. 

"I mean, uh. Like. As in." Clara waves her hand, noncommittally. "Sort of... I mean, for you, I guess, like, he doesn't want you hooking up because--"

"Me?"  
  
And he looks oddly happy about this that Clara dares to pray it's not going that badly, and simply shrugs.

"I mean. You said you were close." 

"Well, um, yes, we are, we're uh--" _Zort_. Nervous habit, apparently. "Well, we're cagemates, and we're pretty close anyway, honestly, just because--" And here he trails off, and fidgets a little on the table before continuing. “But, I'm. He's, erm. Not. We're...not.”  
  
Clara takes a closer look at the mouse, as he puts down his teacup (his tiny, tiny teacup, god) and blinks up at her. His face is starting to colour, and his body language is making things obvious. He's fidgeting, pulling at where his sleeve would be if he was wearing clothes, and she finds her eyebrows raising some more.  
  
Oh ho _ho._ She could see what was happening here. God knew she'd been there herself. “Oh, really.”  
  
“Well, I did have a girlfriend until about three days ago! And, well, then there's all the obvious things.”  
  
“Like what.”  
  
The mouse doesn't answer. Clara thinks about prompting him but again decides this wouldn't be a good idea.  
  
“....Anyway. Um. Where was I.” Zort. Clara was trying not to get sick of his verbal tic. Some weird sort of mouse Tourette's whatever-it -was. “I--”  
  
“I've been there, you know.”  
  
The mouse (Pinky? Was that his name? Truthfully Clara hadn't been listening to a word he said til just now) blinks up at her.  
  
“Been where? California? It's a very nice place, but the summers, _lord_.”  
  
“No.” Wow. Way to miss the point, small rodent. “I mean I've been where you are now.”  
  
“.....California?”  
  
“ _No_. With the. Boy.”  
  
“Oh! You and your Doctor whatsit went to California!”  
  
Clara counts to ten in her head.  
  
“I mean I know how you feel. I felt like that once, too. And. With me, it wasn't really destined to work out.” Which, she mentally adds, she's pretty glad about. “But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.”  
  
“But--”  
  
“Seriously. The best advice I can give you, is just do it. Go out there, and tell him.”  
  
“....That you've been to California?”  
  
“No!”  
  
A pause.  
  
“Oh! That he's a hypocrite and not very accepting?”  
  
“No. The _other_ , more _important_ thing.”  
  
“....Well, I don't really want to ruin his dreams, he's so set on gymna--”  
  
“How you _feel_.”  
  
Blink blink. Clara couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor little thing.  
  
“Come on.” It's slightly gentler, now. “What's the worst that can happen, hmm?”  
  
Mumble mumble.  
  
“Uh, sorry, a bit louder?”  
  
“I can't.”  
  
And here we go. “Why not? I just said. What's the worst that can happen?”  
  
“....He won't want to be my friend.”  
  
Oh. Yes, there was that. “Well then screw him. If he wants to get rid of you over something like that, he doesn't deserve you.” Or something petty like, you know, getting a boyfriend. But then, the plan was always that she dumped her boyfriend. Which she wasn't going to do, thanks, and especially not now.  
  
Where was this going.  
  
“But I don't really have anyone else I can talk to.” And why would he, she can't help but think. He's a lab mouse. It would be a wonder if he even knew any other people, let alone had friends. Apart from the. The horse, apparently. She wonders how that meeting went down.  
  
Oh dear the mouse is speaking.  
  
“--so I'm _sorry_ but I can't do that! And I'm sure you understand why!”  
  
_Narf_.  
  
Clara leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Then you're going to be pretty miserable for a very long time, then, aren't you.”  
  
Blink blink. Again. “....Sorry?”  
  
“You're both immortal, I know that much. Or near as damn it, compared to how long mice usually live. And you're going to have to tell him _some time_ , so why not now?”  
  
Fidget, fidget. That's right, no reason. But again, she doesn't say that.  
  
“So.” And this concludes her little, chickflickesque monologue. “When those two are done arguing about the conquest of the known universe, why don't you go back to your cage or whatever and tell him how you feel?”  
  
“But. But what if it doesn't work?”  
  
“Then you tried, and he can't hold that against you, can he. He keeps nagging you to date a mouse, after all.” Clara pulls herself off the chair and scoops her little friend up into her hands. “In the meantime, I'm getting some more tea, if you want some. And maybe some of those little cakes. Are you sure this is a laboratory? The canteen in here's _great_.”  
  
“Oh, goodie. I like the little cakes.” The mouse waves his hands around.  
  
“Don't we all.”

**Author's Note:**

> that was /incredibly/ gay
> 
> truly the height of homo
> 
> (not trying to disqualify pinky's feelings for pharfig btw the way i see it he can be into both of them he's prolly that kind of person) (also she never mattered w winni or penny so)


End file.
